


My Country, My School

by MsAJNinja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Crossover, Drama, Gen, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsAJNinja/pseuds/MsAJNinja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland hates Voldemort. </p><p>Harry Potter hates Voldemort. </p><p>Arthur Kirkland wants to teach Harry Potter. </p><p>Harry Potter doesn't even know who Arthur Kirkland is.</p><p>Well isn't this just great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Country, My School

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, as I've said before I haven't updated Golden Bond in months (stillsosorry) and I still don't know what to do with it. I posted another fanfic Again and Again as well as a few others (check it out) and this fic is fairly old. This has been sitting in my computer for Merlin knows how long so I just decided to post a few things to appease my audience. So leave comment if you want.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This is posted on [my fanfiction account](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10751003/1/My-Country-My-School)

Nobody knew who they were, what they are, or what they even stand for. To a stranger, they are the unfamiliar face that passes down the street, fading into their subconscious only to turn up in a forgotten dream. To their 'boss' they were the symbol of everything they worked for, what they believe in and the failures as well as the successes they see as each day passes. To their allies, however fickle they may be, they were a ticking time bomb waiting for one another to explode into atoms that fade away into the unknown. But to themselves, they were the ground beneath their feet, the laughter and the anguished cries of their people, the blood and sweat of a determined soldier, they were the east wind flowing through the ever-green grass, they _are_ everything but they are nothing at the same time.  
  
They are countries.  
  
Many people (well those who knew) thought that since they're countries that they're invincible—impervious to all the hurt surrounding them, but really the citizens decide their fate. They choose their country's suffering, their elation, whether they live to see another day or wither and die in a moment's notice. They thought that it must be amazing to live for such a long time to be considered an ancient relic, to see evolution in motion, but they didn't think about the fact that as each generation continues they see another human friend die. Nobody thought that so many of their flaws were recorded in history books, wounds open for everyone to poke at.  
  
That's why they keep to themselves, hiding their identity, keeping a low key, being under the radar. They try not to get involve into any argument too deeply for every action has a equal and opposite reaction. Until one day one country couldn't sit around the sidelines anymore watching his country go up in flames that shined with the intensity of the sun, watching the _threat_ get away with such heinous crimes just because the world he lived in was hidden from the majority of the population.  
  
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle. The _creature_ , not even worthy enough to be deemed human, with too many names, too many black streaks of pure sin that marked the remnants of his soul.  
  
Fury boiled up inside Arthur Kirkland (who is also known as England) until he gripped his pen too tightly that it snapped in half. The black ink flowed down his calloused hand making his alabaster skin looking unnaturally pale under the glare of the ceiling light. He gathered the attention of his fellow countries and he wondered the consequences of the actions he will take soon.  
  
"Arthur?" A French accented voice filtered through his ears, the use of his human name spurred the attention of the rest of his allies. Arthur rubbed his hand against his temples, forcing his oncoming headache away by sheer will alone. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"I'll take care of our problem," Arthur said, emerald (or was it a forest green right now) eyes still closed. He heard the mutterings of confusion and he smirked lacking any real emotion behind it. "Voldemort… my magical problem really since he was born in my country." He cursed mentally, all the magical problems centered in Britain. Who could he blame though, this _was_ the birthplace of Merlin.   
  
A few nations shuffled awkwardly in their seats, uneasy by the blatant recognition of their hidden magical world. Some of them were fine with the Wizarding World (i.e., France, Japan, America, and Germany) but others flinched, like the Italy brothers. It wasn't unusual though; their community is based mostly on Catholicism. Romano held the most conflicted feelings since the Vatican City was near his part of the country, even though his wizarding powers were extraordinary.  
  
"What are you gonna do?" America asked, pushing the rims of his glasses back up to his nose again. "Kill him? You said that the prophe—"  
  
"I know what the bloody prophecy said, America," Arthur snapped at his former colony, he sighed and muttered a quick apology. "I'm going to… help them per say."  
  
Germany raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to do that?"  
  
"I'll teach them."  
  
France nodded in assent, surprising many people who were used to them arguing over trivial (to then anyways) things. "You would be a good teacher, the last time you taught someone or rather a group…" he trailed off knowing that Arthur knew who he was talking about. The Brit looked undeniably smug about it.  
  
"Who?" the Spaniard asked. Then Alfred gasped and his eyes shined brightly as he remembered a specific story Arthur told him when he was just a little colony. The American muttered childishly in awe, "The four founders of Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff. That was a real story, Artie? You taught them?" Arthur, not that blasted nickname 'Artie,' could recall vividly four teenagers who were quite miffed once they realised that their mentor was younger than him (in looks though, not age, never age). He could remember Godric's booming laugh, Salazar's sly smirk, Rowena's studious glare, and Helga's motherly nature. He smiled fondly at the memories and tucked them deep into a locked box inside his mind.  
  
Arthur then nodded, ignoring the gasps of amazement. They all knew of the great deeds they accomplished and what they have done to strengthen the magical community. "All the stories I told you were true, Alfred."  
  
The tall, bespectacled man sniffed and murmured, "I still haven't seen this 'supposed' Flying Mint Bunny yet."  
  
"Oi—!"  
  
France cut Arthur's outraged cries and said, "Who will be your representative for the meetings?"  
  
Arthur pursed his lips and thought of his brothers then came to a conclusion. "Scotland. I'll be on 'his' land anyway. I should tell him soon, it's mid-august so that also means I should probably contact the Headmaster about the free DADA position too."  
  
Everybody muttered their agreement, glad that at least someone was taking the initiative to help the Wizarding community. Germany took note and nodded. "Meeting adjourned."  
  
 _Great_ , Arthur thought bitterly as he gathered his paperwork and walked out, _time to talk to my dear ol' brother of mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Send me prompts on my [tumblr](http://the-once-and-future-prat.tumblr.com/) if you want :3


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